The Various (Mis)Adventures in the Life of Tempestas Potter
by DaughterofHadesandNyx
Summary: AU of both Harry Potter and sometimes the LSBD universe. Starring Tempest Potter in all sorts of unrelated alternate situations, such as declarations of love (always) going awry, insulting anyone and everyone, climbing the Whomping Willow, unexpected heartfelt moments, more (failed) declarations of love, and basically accounts of the madness that is the life of the girl-who-lived.
1. George Attempting to Declare Love(again)

**The Various (Mis)Adventures in the Life of Tempestas Potter.**

 _1_ _. George Fabian Weasley._

In another life, George's declaration of love to one Tempest Potter was a rambling and heated thing, spat out more of desperation to finally say the words rather than a crafted and planned thing.

In this life, it was very much close to the same thing.

With one difference.

"You're an idiot," called Tempest over her shoulder as she sprinted off down the road.

"You say that a lot," sighed George, dropping the remains of the now irreparably damaged bike. "It's starting to sound a lot like an endearment." He set off in chase, longer legs quickly closing the distance between them, yet somehow never quite reaching her.

It was summer in Scotland although it seemed no one had thought to tell the sky, which remained a dull grey and the temperature barely above the single digits. George, always first on Tempest's list of when she wanted to have fun had been summoned from England at her whim. Fred liked to joke that George was little better than a dog running after her, never able to escape the 'animal zone.' Worse than the friend zone, because at least as a friend gender was realised, but no. Tempest had seemed to forget he was even a male often times, or realise they were even of the same species.

Sometimes George wondered _why_ he liked her. Because oh yes he loved her, he'd known that for years now, but while she was easy to love, so painfully heartbreakingly easy; she was not easy to like. She could grate nerves and be as infuriating as a leaky tap and sometimes if George had managed to forget in her own fashion that she was a female, he'd want to punch her so badly his knuckles turned white from strain. He did know though, that if he did hit her, she could take it; they'd been enough scraps together for him to know that. He knew she'd give as good as she got if not multiplied by a dozen.

But perhaps it was behind and beyond all of that roughness that George found himself longing to be the one person with whom all of that faded and mellowed and became softer. He could take the rough, yet at heart he knew he was a romantic. Perhaps it was years of seeing his parents interact and the sheer overwhelming presence of their love if one looked for it. The quiet words, the looks directed at each other when they thought no one else was looking. The flowers he bought her, the treasured moments together when their seven children weren't clamouring for attention that day.

George had wondered fancifully (and to himself; he wasn't a complete idiot as Tempest stated all those times, he knew if Fred ever found out he'd be teased till kingdom come) sometimes about finding that one. The one who he'd love enough for what others might call obsession to transform into something undeniable. And somehow his poor poor brain had chosen Tempest Potter.

It really hadn't been convenient, he knew that. It was Tempest after all- mad impossible Tempest, and for those who had perhaps guessed his feelings looked at him with pity when they thought he couldn't see. Ron and Hermione in particular. Looks of 'oh that poor fucker,' to fall in love with someone who couldn't see him as anything other than an easy companion, someone to share a laugh with at his convenience. Never one to trust with her problems or deeper thoughts.

He didn't need their pity, or their unsubtle hints that perhaps he should move on, find someone- anyone- else. A person who was at the very least _reachable_. He was still at Hogwarts: wizards lived well into their hundreds, he had so much more of his life to live, why would he insist standing before a blank wall when it was clear the wall was never going to move, acknowledge there was someone before it?

George has tried, honestly and truly. He's not as much of a sucker for punishment as the others seem to think, but just when he thinks he might be making progress, she'll call him an idiot and grin at him and it'll be just like all those years ago when she had first called him a spineless bastard and he'll be falling in love all over again.

Like now.

She's running down the street, the quaint street in the middle of the tiny Scottish town, and somehow although he's taller he can't seem to catch up as much as he should be able to, and for some reason, today of all days, George becomes frustrated, more so than usual and uncommonly so. It might be because Tempest's mocking laughter might just have been the last straw, or perhaps the chasing her was a dangerously accurate analogy for his feelings, but he slows at the end of the street and stops altogether, standing and panting, refusing to run any further.

Then Tempest is slowing too, noticing he isn't chasing anymore, turning and jogging back to him, raising an eyebrow mischievously. "Too much for you Weasley? Dear me, can't handle a bike, or run that far... What are we going to do with you?"

And George snapped, not sure why or _now_ of all days. It could've been because it was Tempest's birthday and she had elected him of all people to spend the day with (and only him) and he wanted that to mean so much more than it really did. It could've been anything at all, but the point was ultimately that George gave up on self-preservation and blurted out the thing that had been on his mind for so long he thought it was beginning to define him.

"Hedgy, for once in your life, could you please shut the fuck up?"

Of course, Tempest didn't.

"Well fuck you too, with a steak knife up the arse," she frowned over at him. "You alright?"

George faltered. But then again he already had his foot in the rabbit stump so to speak, so he spoke again, words blending together with haste and urgency and years of repression, into a single incomprehensible sentence. "HedgIow'tsnotexactlyonurmindutaseyoun'towInoveithyou."

Tempest's forehead creased in confusion and she looked at George with the sort of look one might give a dog about to be put down. (George refused to see the analogy.) "I know we share a bond George," drawled Tempest, "but that doesn't mean I understand when you speak Gobblegook. It'd be helpful if you said that again and a tad slower."

George cleared his throat very hard, then again, and had suffered a moment of temporary insanity, (actually every moment of his life knowing Tempest was insanity) failing to take the escape route. "You know it's not a requirement to casually insult me every time you open your mouth… I was _saying, basically,_ that I am, in fact. In love with you."

Tempest's reaction was unexpected. Well, she was always unexpected.

She laughed, reaching up to clap George on the shoulder and grinning. "Well that's hardly something that merits your inability to speak, love you too idiot."

She began to walk off, and George stared after her half in shock. Only she… only her… How could… shit, how could she have misunderstood? There was a definite difference between love and in love… wasn't there? But here it was. A second chance, an out, presented to him on a silver plater. Tempest never had to know. After all, what were the chances of her taking it well?

"Not like that," blurted George, and Tempest turned back. His mouth seemed to be functioning separately from the rest of his body. "I mean I love you holding hands and walking into the sunset. Like dates in tea shops and snogging in the snow. Like orchids on Valentines even though I know you hate flowers because you're allergic, but won't ever admit it."

Tempest blinked at him, apparently surprised by his outburst. "Oh, yeah, no, I know that. Hell, I'm not _that_ oblivious, Merlin, George, it's hardly earthshattering news, I don't see what the problem is. C'mon, if we get back to the house, Minnie might actually let us play Quidditch in the garden. I promised her this time I wouldn't go smashing through any of her windows."

"But…" now George felt incredibly wrong-footed. "I… shouldn't we talk about this?"

Tempest sighed impatiently. "George. Mate. You are aware that there is a fucking mass murderer out there called Sirius Black who sold out my parents, works for Voldemort and wants me dead too? Now in comparison, you in love with me and me loving you is really just a footnote. George, I am actually sorry, but this is really not as big of a deal as you are making it out to be. We'd never work. I'm not attracted to you. At all. In any capacity. We'd never shag and I'd never want to snog you because you're like my brother and incest isn't exactly something I ever want to get involved in. And hypothetically even if I was attracted to you, it's school. We'd be broken up and unable to speak to each other by the time you're at NEWT level and I starting my OWLs." She glanced over her shoulder and down the road. "Or, we could skip all of that and go play Quidditch, because that's a place where things actually work between us."

She turned once again to go, leaving George stunned, heartbroken, and actually, surprisingly, relieved.

Some things just weren't meant to be. Perhaps it was time he accepted that.

* * *

 **Sometimes I feel bad for tormenting poor George so. Then I remember I'm a heartless bastard and the feeling goes away.**

 **Reviews are much appreciated and also, if you write what you'd like to have Tempest go through next, I'll write it up :) I love a challenge.**


	2. Shopping With Voldemort

_**Some references to LSBD, not too many, although it would make it a bit easier to understand :) and hey, thanks ptl4ever419 :)**_

* * *

 **2\. Shopping with Lord Voldemort**

Tempest was in the fruit aisle, poring over nectarines and peaches and very pointedly avoiding the pears. (Sirius hated pears. Somehow Tempest could never get that out of her mind.) She had finally made a selection and was filling a bag with nectarines when she saw him.

He was strolling over from the bread racks, a basket swinging freely over his arm, brown eyes pursuing the rows of frozen food, looking for all the world like a university student off for weekend shopping.

Tempest balked.

Lord Voldemort, wearing the face of Tom Riddle was walking through a muggle shop, doing, if she could see correctly, his weekly shopping. As she watched, he added a bag of frozen chicken legs to his basket, then turned… and his eyes met hers.

Tempest dropped her eyes instantly. It was summer; she had been out in the sun with Cat enough for the giant ball of fire in the sky to sear her skin a bright red, a colour so different from her usual pale pallor she may as well have been covered in paint. Her hair was down and she was wearing muggle clothing; a t-shirt and shorts and there was every chance that Voldemort would not recognize her.

Of course, the fates weren't that kind.

"Tempestas Potter," purred the voice, coming not a foot from her downward-angled head. "Fancy seeing you here."

Tempest choked on her own spit and her head jerked up. "We're in a public place," she blurted, incredibly unprepared to have been facing a Dark Lord that afternoon. She had just popped out to get groceries, not face off against Voldemort. "You can't kill me here." Only after she spoke the words, she realized how stupid she sounded. The shop was filled with muggles; Voldemort had the ability to and would have no qualms slaughtering the whole lot.

Voldemort laughed charmingly. "Oh I have no desire to kill you today, Tempest."

Tempest looked at him, fearing for his sanity, then very much fearing for her own. "Well then that's stupid," she said bluntly, "you spent so much time the past school year luring me away to kill me, and here I am, and you can't be bothered?"

Voldemort shrugged, "it wasn't exactly on my agenda today. It really does mess with my schedule when unplanned things happen. So no, I won't be killing you today. I will write it in for tomorrow if you'd prefer?"

Tempest gapped. "I… you… schedule… you do realize that the moment I leave I'll be telling everyone I know that I ran into Voldemort into a shop buying-" she peered into his basket, "chicken, jellybabies, canned apples, avocadoes, party mix and tinfoil? What are you making?"

"Who would believe you? The chicken is for Nagini; we ran out of dead muggles this morning and collecting more of those isn't written in my diary until Wednesday. The rest is for me."

Tempest snorted, relaxing ever so slightly as Voldemort didn't seem to have his wand within reach. "Well trust you to have jellybabies," she muttered under her breath, still trying to get over the bizzare vision of Voldemort dressed in muggle trousers and a pressed shirt. "Probably eat them from the toes up too."

Voldemort looked down at her almost like he wanted to laugh, but was restraining himself, as he was a dark wizard, and she was the object of his continued death wishes, so much so they had carried from beyond the grave. "I do actually," he replied.

"Typical."

Tempest stared at Voldemort. Well… this was strange. She had to keep repeating that otherwise it might start to seem like this was a regular occurrence, and Merlin knew she could do with a lot less of Dark Wizards turning up in her life for it to be 'normal.' So if she took Voldemort at his word and trusted him not to kill her here in the middle of a grocery shop, what was he still doing standing in front of her?

"Can I help you with something?" tried Tempest. "Er, where to find the chainsaws and garroting wire?"

Voldemort frowned at her. "The what?"

"Never mind." Right. Dressed as a muggle or not, Voldemort was still oblivious to the muggle world. That was quite a relief actually; he could remain ignorant to what a tazer or gun could do. That was the plan really. It'd be nice to know what Voldemort'd look like with a bullet between the eyes. "Why are you here though? I thought you'd never stoop to the level of visiting a muggle shop."

"Other than you and the few who believe your account, to the Wizarding World, I am dead," Voldemort stated, "I cannot exactly stroll down Diagon Alley to do my shopping."

"Why didn't you just cast an imperious on some other wizard and get them to do your grocery shopping for you?"

Voldemort stared at her like she had just discovered fire.

"Oh come on, seriously? You never thought of that?"

Voldemort cleared his throat. "My mind was occupied with more pressing matters."

"Such as your long and needlessly complicated plot to lure me out of Hogwarts?

Voldemort bristled, which was far less impressive seeing as he looked like an ordinary muggle and to see him as a powerful and feared Dark wizard was almost impossible with the green shopping basket swinging on his arm. Tempest had to remind herself that behind the skin of a regular man, there was as scarlet-eyed, slit-nosed snake-like monster. "That plan was engineered to arouse as little suspicion as possible."

"'As little suspicion?'" echoed Tempest, "mate, I'm sorry, but you failed astronomically at that. I guarantee you, had you merely gotten Crouch to stun me in behind some building in Knockturn Alley, it would have raised about the same amount of 'suspicion' and saved you a hell of a lot of hassle- shit, I feel like I'm doing your job for you."

"I did offer to put you on the payroll."

Tempest laughed and deciding the day couldn't get more bizzare if it tried, she began pursuing the tea that Sirius had asked after. It seemed that the most important people in her life either had no appreciation for her love of coffee, (Cat) or were hellbent on converting her into a sipping from a floral patterned cup-and-saucer addict (Minnie and Sirius.) In reply to Voldemort though, she said; "you offered me my _life_ as payment."

"A reasonable agreement, I thought."

"Oh go get fucked," huffed Tempest, examining tins of Earl Grey (Sirius's favourite) with relation to English Breakfast (least favourite) and wondering if she should get him the latter as revenge for swapping her mug of freshly made coffee for tepid tea the other day.

"That is the second time you have suggested such an occurrence- should I interpret that as an invitation?"

" _No_!" hissed Tempest, clutching a tin of Earl Grey and fully prepared to utilize it as a weapon. "It was an insult, warning- whatever you like _except_ what you just said. Merlin, do evil megalomaniacs need this sort of thing spelled out for them?"

"I don't see myself as evil," objected Voldemort, sounding almost plaintive.

"Of course you don't," replied Tempest tiredly, finally deciding to be generous towards Sirius and selecting the Earl Grey. "You're a psycho."

Merlin above, now Voldemort looked genuinely hurt. "It isn't a requirement for you to insult me every time you open your mouth," he said.

"You killed my parents, I think you're getting off lightly."

"It wasn't anything _personal_."

"You killed my _parents_ then tried to kill _me!_ It's nothing _but_ personal!"

Voldemort sighed, shaking his head. "Teenagers, always so touchy."

" _Touchy-_ " Tempest paused for a moment waiting until a family of muggles with a squealing girl in their shopping trolley had passed by before she continued, this time a shade quieter, in a voice that was so constricted it sounded strangled. "I can excuse you killing me- that I can take, but they're my _parents_!"

"They _were_ your parents," said Voldemort, "past tense. And I don't see why you're so peeved about it; you can't even remember them."

"And whose fault is that?" said Tempest in utter disbelief.

"…well… yours. It is _your_ memory."

"I- you- fucking- I don't-" Tempest was at a rare loss for words, seemingly unable to string the ones floating around in her brain into coherent sentences, and fully convey the sheer magnitude of emotions coursing through her at the moment. "I hope you choke on your jellybabies." She finally managed, and stormed off.


	3. She Doesn't Know What to Think

**AN- On a more serious note... In memory and admiration of Alan Rickman.**

* * *

 **3\. She Doesn't Know What to Think**

The first time Tempest meets Severus Snape, she doesn't know what to think. But she does like his cloak.

Eleven year old Tempest Potter was a curious thing; not in the sense that she wanted to know everything in the way that the bushy-haired girl beside her did, although she did have her fair share of 'killed by curiosity' moments- rather that Tempest herself was an odd being.

Still adjusting to her newly discovered identity and the entire world that had been thrust upon her, she was distrustful and closed yet wide-eyed and excited, snappish to some, painfully polite to others and altogether a mystery. In classes she varied; temperamental in Herbology and Astronomy, wild and enthusiastic in Charms, reserved in History of Magic, Defence Against the Dark Arts, quiet but confident in Transfiguration… and finally Potions.

The desks in the dungeon that was their classroom were arranged in neat rows where the class sat. Draco Malfoy, his two pet apes and the majority of the Slytherin first years sat towards the front, while the Gryffindors clamored for the seats at the back, as far away from the front as possible.

Tempest, as one of the first to enter the room, sat in the middle, but on the furthest desk, where no-one other than Hermione Granger, a fellow outcast (and Tempest could see why; while Granger was more tolerable than her other dorm-mates, she had no particular liking for Granger either) dared to sit beside her… and that was more out of necessity; no-one else would sit with her.

Snape swirled in behind them, dark teaching robes billowing and cloak flowing out from his shoulders, creating an almost artistic swirl to his steps. It mattered not that the summer weather was still making its presence known, or that they were indoors and his cloak looked incredibly warm and heavy, the effect was worth it. Tempest's eyes followed the motion of his cloak as Snape moved about, calling the roll. So distracted was she, and unused to being called 'Tempestas Potter,' that she failed to respond on time and looked up in confusion when Snape addressed her.

"Tempestas Potter. Our new… celebrity."

There were sniggers from the Slytherins, but Tempest merely looked at Snape in perplexion, unsure if she should respond. "Um, sorry sir," she tried, "I like your cloak?"

The class fell into a hushed silence. Snape scowled. "A point from Gryffindor for your cheek, Miss Potter. Miss Patil!"

Pravati Patil squeaked her presense while Tempest struggled to understand what exactly was happening. She had just dismissed it when Snape finished calling out names and looked up at the class. He had incredibly dark eyes, which went quite well with his persona.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he began. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death- if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

A silence followed, where Tempest sat contemplating two things. First how his words were as artistic as the swirl of his cloak, and secondly how long Snape had spent writing then memorizing that speech.

"Miss Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Snape addressed her again, so abruptly she was taken aback and had to struggle to find words for a moment. Beside her, Hermione Granger's hand had flown up.

Tempest blinked through a curtain of shaggy dark hair (she had refused Minnie's suggestion to neaten it slightly, already aware that it was a lost cause). Powdered… asphodel… wormwood. It had been in one of her books when she was reading about dangerous and fatal potions. They were… "the primary ingredients to make the Draught of Living Death?"

Snape's eyes flashed. "Correct. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Once again, Granger's hand snapped up as though attached to a wire of some sort.

This Tempest couldn't remember. The name was familiar, not so much anything else about it. She hadn't pursued the _entire_ set of books. Still, she was sure it had something to do with farmyard animals. Perhaps it was something like truffles, and were sniffed out by pigs. No, not for bezoars, not pigs. Sheep?

"I'm not sure," replied Tempest honestly, "er… um… something to do with sheep?"

There were more sniggers from the Slytherin's direction, and Snape's eyes flashed again, although this time there was a strangely triumphant glint to his eyes that made Tempest feel as though she had proved some sort of point. "Five points from Gryffindor," sneered Snape. "Tut, tut, it seems fame isn't everything." He ignored Hermione's hand, continuing on. "Let's try again, what is the difference, Miss Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Now Tempest really had no idea. Granger was straining upwards so much that Tempest was beginning to fear for her arm. "I'm sorry sir, I don't know," she confessed. "Except for well, I suppose they're spelt differently."

Snape wasn't pleased to say the least, and Tempest ended up losing twenty points from Gryffindor that day. She left the room at the end of the double period still not sure what to think of Snape- because as unreasonable as he had been with her, she had actually liked the lesson afterward, liked potions making.

Tempest doesn't really know what to think about Severus Snape. But she does know he's an utter prick.

Years later, straight off a battlefield, Tempest pulls off her cloak, cooler than Snape's by a thousand times, and it helps that it isn't hers that is soaked in her own blood. She kneels by his side and he offers her his memories, then she stays. Stays so he won't die alone. A lot has happened in the past year; a lot has happened since she first met him.

Snape's a prick, he's a murderer, a half-blood, a genius. He's saved her life and tortured her, he's mentored her best friend and betrayed them all. Snape dies with a hand clutching Tempest's and dark eyes fixed on green.

Tempest still doesn't know what to think about Severus Snape. Only that she'll never forget him.


	4. Malfoy in the Shower

**4\. Malfoy in the Shower**

He knew inviting Potter over was a mistake.

It had been Dumbledore's idea, of course it had the daft coot, but it had been his apparent step towards 'a brighter united future' and such. Malfoy knew it was a good thing really, brilliant actually, that Dumbledore and the Dark Lord had fallen in love and decided to go off and have lots of sex in Jamaica. The previously imminent war was off and it was _peaceful._

The downside was…

Tempestas Potter.

It had been seen as a sort of co-operation tactic for the still resentful parties of both sides. So Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks and Tempestas Potter had come to stay at Malfoy Manor for two weeks. And all hell was unleashed.

In rectrospect, it was really actually all his own fault. Inviting Tempest hadn't been the original idea, but he was the only teenager stuck in a (admittedly massive) house with eight adults, half of which despised and hated the other, and the other half of which despised and hated the other, just more openly. Logically, at the time, Malfoy had hinted to his mother, who had hinted to his father who had hinted to the Dark Lord that he'd prefer someone else there his own age.

The most obvious choice had been Potter. Of course the Dark Lord had chosen her; she had been the unexpected catalyst to Dumbledore and Snake-face's romance. From what Malfoy'd heard, was that the Dark Lord had been possessing Tempest and Dumbledore was trying to talk him into leaving her unharmed, trying to persuade the Dark Lord to come to his senses- to which the Dark Lord apparently had an emotional breakdown inside Tempest's body and in the depths of her mind, in true Tempest fashion, she had rolled her (mental) eyes and told the Dark Lord to cut to the chase and snog Dumbledore already.

She clearly had not been expecting the Dark Lord to do exactly that. …while still in her body.

The last detail Potter hadn't needed to give (and in fact she hadn't) but it was easy enough to deduce by the look of utter disgust and traumatization on her face as she had finished the tale.

But back to the point. Of course all of the above then led to her arrival at Malfoy Manor and Malfoy's subsequent realization that he was a moron.

It hadn't really been all that bad before. His parents were good but distant hosts, his uncles Rod and Rab kept to themselves, Lupin and Tonks had mostly stayed holed up in their room together, Black had clashed with Aunt Bella a lot, but ultimately it had been manageable. With Tempest came bedlam.

She drove his father to his wits end with her comments about his peacocks, drove his mother to distraction with her insistence that coffee was better than any tea she brewed. The house elves complained about her refusal to let them serve her; Black was a thousand times worse when she was around too. On her first day, her and Black's combined efforts had ended with Bellatrix swearing murder and promising torture with her eyes, suspended upside down from the grand chandelier in the atrium of the mansion.

Still it was peaceful _here_.

In the shower, Malfoy worked the product in his hair into a lather and thought about dinner in a couple of hours. Merlin, he could see it already, and it'd be nothing short of a miracle if they managed to get through it without an actual physical fight breaking out. He was just rinsing his hair when he became aware of the sound of the door to the bathroom opening and closing.

Through the glass and steam that surrounded him, Malfoy saw the silhouette of a familiar figure in the bathroom beyond.

"Potter!" Malfoy all but yelped, "what in the seven bloody _hells_ are you doing?"

"Shh!" was the impatient reply, "shut up, keep showering!"

" _What?_ " spluttered Malfoy, wiping damp hair out of his face and fumbling around for a towel- a towel he had left in the room beyond, because he hadn't exactly been expecting to have _visitors_ mid-shower.

"Voldemort's looking for me," she replied, strange to hear the words from her mouth without the cursory undertones of disgust and veiled fear. "They're back from that tropical island- Malfoy, the man has a _tan_ , it's an assault to all beings with vision!"

"Right," said Malfoy, processing all of that and still coming up blank. "But _why_ are you here?"

"Merlin you're dense- I'm _hiding!_ This is the last place short of your parent's bedroom they'd think to look, so here I am-"

"But I'm in the shower!"

"I had noticed- just stay there if it'd make you feel better, I don't think they'll look for much longer than half an hour- although this is the man who was hell bent on killing me for fifteen years so there is that-"

" _Half an hour?_ This shower is glass!"

"Frosted glass," said Tempest dismissively, "I'm not interested Malfoy, and it's not like it'd get suspicious, you holed up in your bathroom for so long."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Meaning you spend a ridiculous amount of time self-grooming- I mean the result isn't half bad, and ultimately it does work in my favour today, but just think of the wasted water."

Malfoy had to think through all of that before he reached the conclusion that she had actually paid him a compliment. "Well what does the Dark Lord- actually, the title doesn't ring as true anymore- want? Was he trying to invite to you to go with the next time he and Dumbledore go off on vacation?"

Tempest's groan was audible over the sound of the water. "Worse- he was trying to show me _pictures!_ I caught a glimpse of Dumbledore in his bathing suit before I had the sense to run… I could have gone the entire rest of my life without seeing that…"

From where he was standing under the steady jet of hot water, Malfoy shuddered too. "Alright, your fleeing was justified."

" _Thanks,_ " Tempest drawled, and Malfoy could see her blurred shape pacing to and fro on the marble tiles beyond the shower.

After a beat, Malfoy asked, "so when you say bathing suit-"

He heard a choked off laugh that sounded more like a dying cat. "Barely _anything_ there, I wanted to claw my eyes out… Merlin… do you keep bleach in here?"

"Bleach?"

"Nevermind."

There was a beat of silence, then Malfoy said; "if you're going to be out there, could you at least pass me a towel so I can shut the water off?"

There was a loud sigh, then several cupboards opening and closing, Tempest muttering something about ' _of course they have monogramed towels_ ' then a mass of white was thrown over the shower door and onto him. Malfoy swore and shut off the water, but not before the five or six towels she had thrown him were soaked through. He sighed and selected the least damp one, wrapping it around his hips, then throwing another one across his shoulders and leaving the rest in a pile on the floor of the shower.

Tempest wasn't looking at him when he stepped out of the shower box, rather staring at the door to the bathroom, and the line of her back spoke of distraction, rather than pointed disinterest. Malfoy wondered why he felt rather disappointed.

"I'm sure the worst is over now," hinted Malfoy, "you could leave-"

And then from his bedroom, they heard the unmistakable sound of one formerly dark wizard and another who dressed as though he was attempting to prove to the world that magenta and violent yellow could coexist in the same building together.

" _Tempest_?" called the voice of the reformed murderer of her parents, "are you in here? We even brought chocolate for you!"

For a split second, behind the horror in Tempest's eyes, Malfoy saw a flicker of temptation- then she had grabbed him around his waist and was bundling the both of them into the showerbox. They slipped on wet tile, crashed into the stonewall of the shower; towels were everywhere, and Tempest reached up to yank the water back on, full strength.

Malfoy swore again as icy water doused the both of them, quickly scrambling to his feet (losing his towel in the process) to adjust the temperature.

"Draco darling!" sang a voice from outside, "are you in there?"

Malfoy lunged for his towel, glaring over at the now sodden Tempest on the floor of his shower, her face contorted in both wicked laughter and anticipation.

"I'm showering!" Malfoy snarled, "Merlin, what is it with you people?!"

"We were just wondering if Tempest was in there with you!" called Dumbledore and Malfoy wanted to strangle the showerhead.

"It's the last place she'd hide, so she should be here!" followed the Dark Lord's voice.

Malfoy head a dull thudding, and looked down to see Potter banging her head against the marble wall of the shower.

"She's not in here!" yelled Malfoy, "could you very kindly fuck off now, please?"

Silence, then Malfoy heard the bathroom door open slowly.

"GET OUT!" he roared, and Dumbledore and the Dark Lord scrambled off. As they went, Malfoy heard Voldemort's voice.

"Let's check Lucius's room next!"


End file.
